


Between the Lines

by Cryptix23



Category: The Shadow (Pulp)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Missing Scene, Multi, Platonic Cuddling, The Shadow: Actual Disney Princess, also now there are dogs, flirty banter, mostly platonic with occasional implied romance, mostly self-indulgent cuddling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-08-23 12:25:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8327782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cryptix23/pseuds/Cryptix23
Summary: Epilogues and missing scenes for various pulps, mostly quickly-written little bits of character interaction.





	1. The Black Master

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maxwell Grant is very good at delivering on hurt, but tends to skimp on comfort, so here’s a quick missing-scene fic for #8: The Black Master, in around Chapter 16. (Also a scene that could come after several books but here seemed appropriate.)

 

The storm had worsened. Torrential rain obscured the vision; paradoxically, it made visible one thing which would otherwise be invisible. The splash of aggressive raindrops formed a misty silhouette around a tall figure that might have been cut from the night itself.

The phantom moved with purpose down the quiet street. It passed by the third house, and then even the watery aura vanished. A flash of lightning illuminated a narrow alleyway and a side-door swinging closed.

Just within the door, the darkness was motionless. Listening ears strained to hear beyond the downpour. Nothing but the steady _drip-drip_ of rain from his own garments.

A narrow beam of light appeared upon bare woodwork steps, followed them upward until they met a closed door. The light went out.

Moments later, the door began, ever so imperceptibly, to creep open. The opening widened to only a few inches, then wet cloth swished through and it swung shut again.

Nothing moved in the room beyond to impede the entry. In fact, at first glance, the dark room appeared empty.

Another flash of lightning revealed otherwise. A human form lay upon the floor, and it twitched and groaned piteously under the momentary illumination.

The steady beam of a larger flashlight made a quick sweep of the room, but it showed nothing that the lightning had not already disclosed. Bare wooden floors, bare walls, rattling windows, and nowhere for any threats to hide. The beam turned towards the crumpled body on the floor.

"Vincent," whispered a voice from the darkness.

The form stirred. Dazed, unfocused eyes blinked against the light. A hem of black cloth fluttered into view, and the eyes grew suddenly wide. With a startled gasp, the man on the floor scrambled away, pressing his back against the wall. Hoarse, nonsensical pleas fell from his lips.

Setting the flashlight on the floor on end, the dark figure knelt. "Harry," came the whisper again, low and powerful and yet, at this moment, gentle. "Harry, it's me. You're safe." White skin shone in the dim lighting as he removed one glove. From the left ring finger a distinctive gem caught the light and flashed with red and purple and blue. "Harry. You know this ring. There is only one like it. Only The Shadow wears this ring."

Harry Vincent finally managed to focus on the changing hues of the girasol. Recognition crossed his face. His pleas stopped, though he still gasped for breath and trembled visibly.

The Shadow drew closer, reaching out to grip Harry's shoulder. "Report." The order was familiar, routine, and he hoped that it would serve to jog Harry back into reality. It seemed to work. Harry's brow furrowed in concentration.

"The letters-- the paper was wrong-- in the cab-- blue light-- the light-- the _light_ \--"

That was all he managed, and the last words were all but a hysterical sob as he threw himself against The Shadow. Strong arms wrapped instinctively around him. Lightning crackled and Harry whimpered and shook. The Shadow tightened his hold with one arm. With the other, he wrapped his cloak around Harry, blocking out the light. "That’s enough. Don't speak. Don't think about it. You're safe now. You're safe."

While the storm raged outside and rain beat against the windows, The Shadow held his frightened agent close and crooned reassurances, and silently swore a terrible vengeance against the monster responsible.

* * *

 

"Mister Vincent." Harry looked up at the orderly. "A visitor for you."

Harry's smile broadened as his visitor stepped into view. "Mister Gage!" He started to rise, but sat back down at a gesture.

This was not the first time that Clifford Gage had visited his friend here -- 'here' being the private sanitarium that Lamont Cranston had recommended Harry to. A month in its care had done Harry good.

Gage, on the other hand, seemed oddly tired to Harry's trained eye. The slight smile on his molded features betrayed nothing, but he moved a little stiffly as he took the seat across from Harry. Before Harry could make up his mind whether to ask, Gage spoke. "Doctor Morrison tells me you're to be discharged tomorrow."

Harry nodded. He had not quite gotten the hang of casual conversation with men he knew to be The Shadow.

Gage again relieved him of the necessity to speak. "I have a proposition for you." He produced an envelope and slid it across the table between them.

Inside the envelope, Harry found a stack of bills and a train ticket to his hometown in Michigan. Harry was perplexed. Normally when the chief sent him home, it was for recuperation -- but he'd just had a solid month of that. And the money--? He looked up, seeking answers.

The Shadow obliged. "A spell at home, while you decide on your next step. Wherever you wish to go from there, you will be ensured a good, stable position and enough money to support yourself until you are established."

As he spoke, Harry's confused expression had gone, replaced with realization and then something like dread. He didn't respond immediately. When he did, his voice shook, and he couldn’t seem to bring it far above a whisper. "Am I being dismissed?"

"No. It is a proposition. You have gone through more than enough on your current employer's behalf. Any debt you feel you have has been repaid." His voice was devoid of any emotion. Harry couldn't bring himself to look at his face.

"Is that what you want?"

"What I want is immaterial."

Harry shook his head sharply. "I swore absolute obedience. I _meant_ it. What you want is everything."

A moment of silence followed, then, "Harry Vincent." The voice wasn't quite Gage's anymore, and it was deadly serious. Harry realized that The Shadow was waiting on him. He managed to look up. The eyes were no longer Gage's, either. It was all Harry could do to meet the piercing gaze, but at the same time he couldn't have looked away if he'd wanted to. "What do _you_ want?"

Harry hesitated. "I--" His voice failed him. He swallowed and tried again. "I want to stay with you." The intensity of the gaze dimmed enough that he could duck his head, flushing and cursing his unguarded wording.

For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the ticking of Harry's wristwatch. The silence between seconds seemed interminably long.

Finally, The Shadow reached out and picked up the envelope. "Very well," he said as he tucked it away. "Tomorrow you will return to the Metrolite Hotel as usual, to await your next instructions." Gage rose.

A relieved grin had spread on Harry's face. "Instructions received," he returned. He thought he saw some of that relief mirrored in Gage’s smile.


	2. Gray Fist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set just after Chapter 12 of #48: Gray Fist

The man who called himself Gray Fist was gone, leaving his prisoners with the echoes of a wild laugh. Long minutes passed while the scene processed through the prisoners' drug-addled minds. At length, Cliff stretched out on his cot and let his heavy eyelids fall shut. There was nothing else they could do for the moment.

He heard stirring from the other side of the room; opening his eyes, Cliff saw Harry standing, braced against the wall. Cliff couldn't fathom his friend's purpose. He was too unsteady to be able to accomplish much of anything. Still, Harry moved haltingly towards Cliff's cot. Understanding dawned. Cliff shifted over as far as the small surface allowed. When Harry lay down beside him, Cliff wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and the two huddled together.

More time passed. At least, Cliff was pretty sure it had. There was no way to tell how long it was before he opened his eyes again, except that he felt less dopey this time. Harry was warm against him, breathing deep and steady.

Eventually someone would enter. Maybe bringing food and water, maybe just to taunt the prisoners again. Cliff considered the possibility and then threw it away. Let them walk in and think whatever they were going to. Cliff and Harry were as good as dead already, anyway, as far as their captors were concerned.

Inches away, Harry's eyes fluttered open. He smiled groggily. Cliff leaned his forehead against Harry's.

The closeness was more than just comforting; it meant they could speak without fear of being overheard. Even half-asleep, Harry seemed to grasp this, his voice barely even a whisper. "We're still alive.”

"I hope so," Cliff replied. "This would be a terrible Heaven. No offense, kid."

Harry chuckled. "I meant -- we’re only alive as long as he is. So that means he's still out there, fighting."

"Of course he is."

Harry closed his eyes and nestled against Cliff’s chest. Cliff almost didn’t catch his next utterance. “He’ll come for us.”

“Hasn’t let us down yet.”

Harry’s breathing was already evening back out. Cliff closed his eyes and joined his friend in sleep.

 


	3. The Golden Quest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sort of an epilogue to #77: The Golden Quest. What happened between Harry and Vic leaving for the isle and Vic returning alone.

They find the rowboat pulled up on the sandy shore of Old Absalom's isle, just as Harry predicted. The dim light of a lantern shines through the grimy windows of the cabin. Harry doesn't quite run, but Vic does have trouble keeping up with his brisk stride. The door is already swinging open by the time he catches up.

The Shadow's there, all right. He's reposed on what passes for Absalom's bed, at first glance asleep -- or dead -- except for the cold glimmers trained on the doorway: two bright eyes and one automatic muzzle. The automatic disappears back under his cloak.

With the sight of that motion, Harry's entire form sags in relief. His absolute statements were not confidence. They were desperation. He doesn't know what he would have done if he'd been wrong.

Vic sees the release of tension, but he assumes it’s just natural concern. Vic doesn't see everything else.

By contrast, The Shadow is weary and wounded, but he's had time to recover while matters were cleaned up at Laspar's. His mind is sharp. His eyes are keen. He sees what Vic doesn't.

Physically, Harry is fine. A few bumps and bruises but he's withstood far worse. Mentally is a different matter. Mentally, Harry is on the verge of collapse.

Propping himself on the elbow of his uninjured arm, The Shadow turns his gaze from Harry to Vic. "Take the rowboat," he says.

Without missing a beat, Harry hands over the lantern. His voice is steady but barely above a whisper. "Tell Rex to look me up at the Hotel Metrolite, in New York."

Vic doesn't argue. He never knows the full story with these two. This time, he's not sure he wants to know, but he’s quite sure it’s not his place to intrude. As the door closes behind him, he puts it out of his mind and instead considers how he'll smooth over the disappearance of a key witness.

The Shadow lies back down and beckons. "Come here."

Harry obeys. Of course he does. He sits on the bed and tries not to look at the places where the cloak is torn and stiff with dried blood.

"My attack shook you," The Shadow observes. Harry starts to reply, but falls silent at a gesture. "You understood why afterward. At the time, however, it was disheartening. Since, you have been harassed by one enemy or fear after another. You never had a chance to recover from the initial upset." He gestures again, this time for a response, for anything he’s missed.

Harry nods. After a minute of patient silence, he speaks, voice thick with emotion. "I was afraid you were dead. When Jubal -- when we thought Jubal had entered the mine. I thought the only way he could have gotten past you was by hurting or killing you."

A soft sigh hisses from The Shadow's lips. "My actions were ill-considered," he admits. "I did not properly account for your mental state."

It's not quite an apology. The Shadow doesn't really do apologies. It's close enough. Harry doesn't resist as a firm hand draws him down to the bed. The Shadow holds Harry tight and murmurs, "You did well tonight."

"I should have--"

The Shadow silences him with a finger to his lips and a firm "No." He tips Harry's chin so their eyes can meet. "You did your best. And I would rather have you at your worst than a hundred Vic Marquettes."

He can see the momentary struggle between Harry's own self-doubts and his belief in The Shadow. That there's a struggle at all is testament to how badly his confidence was shaken. The latter wins out. Harry's smile lights the room better than the lantern. The Shadow smiles back, more with his eyes than his lips, and he presses a soft kiss to Harry's forehead.

"Now rest. We leave for New York within the hour."


	4. The London Crimes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An epilogue to #86: The London Crimes. Because puppies. Pretty spoiler-free.

Amidst the chaos that followed The Harvester's revelation and subsequent demise, Lamont Cranston quietly reappeared among the crowd in the living room. Harry Vincent cast him an anxious glance; otherwise, his absence excited no suspicion.

It had been a few minutes past nine when the final shots were fired. It was to be another hour and a half before the witnesses were allowed to leave. Eric Delka offered to drive The Shadow and Harry to the train station. The Shadow accepted. He strolled after Delka in the leisurely way that suited Cranston, while Harry followed at his heels.

The wind had picked up a bit and seemed to encourage them toward the driveway. As they drew near, a new vehicle pulled into view, sweeping headlights momentarily blinding. The car stopped and an officer hopped out. "Inspector Delka--" was as far as he got.

There was a scrabbling from the back seat, barking, and two large bodies that slammed through the car door before the officer could close it. Harry uttered a cry of alarm as a pair of dogs bounded straight for The Shadow. In their excitement the hounds nearly bowled him over.

The officer jogged up, apologizing. Cranston chuckled. "No trouble," he said, extending a hand to each dog. Their tails wagged furiously. "Hello, again."

"Those are the guard dogs from the cottage?" Delka asked.

"Yes, sir. I was coming up to inform you and Chief Lewsham that we'd secured the entire area. We were about to take them back to the precinct, thought they'd be alright in the car considering how friendly they've been. And well-behaved, until now."

"I believe I can explain that," Cranston said, still petting both hounds. "I encountered these two during my walking trip. They must have remembered my scent. I've always had something of a way with animals." As if in demonstration, he gestured toward Harry. One of the dogs trotted over. Harry, well recovered from his fright, let the dog sniff his hand and then scratched it behind the ears.

"Very friendly," Delka agreed. "Which is a surprising trait in a guard dog."

The officer moved forward. "Well, I ought to get them back in the car."

The dog he reached for growled. Cranston rubbed its head and gestured. "Go on. You, too." The dogs whined, but turned meekly and slunk back to the vehicle.

The officer blinked. "Er, thank you, sir." He followed the dogs.

"Never seen anyone handle a dog quite like that," Delka commented admiringly.

Harry glanced at The Shadow. Though the dim lighting hid most of the man's disguised face, Harry could still see the keen glow in his eyes as he watched the dogs clamber back inside the car.

"Well," Delka said, "we'd best be off if you're to make the next train."

* * *

The steamship _Doranic_ sailed two nights later.

Harry found The Shadow standing by an isolated stretch of rail, watching the shore slowly disappear. His tuxedoed form was flanked on either side by a large hound. The Shadow's hand rested on one dog's head; the other dog was laying on the deck. Canine tails thumped occasionally on the deck, but otherwise all were still, a tableau silhouetted against the night sky.

Harry smiled and shook his head. Even after years in The Shadow's service, his master still managed to surprise him.

He turned to find the smoking room. The motion caught the attention of the resting hound. It scrabbled to its feet and bounded over to Harry. The Shadow's gaze followed.

He saw Harry crouch, scratching the dog’s neck. Harry laughed as the dog tried to lick his face.

A hint of a smile rested on The Shadow's face. His hand on the dog still beside him moved to scratch its ears.

He always did have a weakness for strays.


	5. The Shadow Meets the Mask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set just after Chapter 19 of #228: The Shadow Meets The Mask

The Shadow's sibilant laughter echoed through the underground room as he hung up the phone. His powerful whisper had been just loud enough to reach Harry and Margo nearby, but not the pair of thugs they held prisoner. Still, the agents' pleased expressions boded ill for the two -- as if the presence of The Shadow didn't already clinch the deal.

Harry glanced sidelong at Margo, who caught his eye and mirrored his satisfied smirk. They weren't above taking a little amusement out of this reversal. Sight of her bare shoulders reminded Harry of something he'd meant to do earlier.

Without taking his eyes off Tagger, Harry called over his shoulder.

"Boss, can you hold them a second?"

The Shadow materialized almost at his elbow. Gloved hands produced the brace of automatics from his cloak. Ernie and Tagger quailed under the blackened muzzles. Gleaming eyes caught Harry's, conferring with a glance that he had a few moments' leeway, but not to waste any time.

Harry didn't. He tucked Tagger's gun into his waistband and shrugged out of his coat.

Margo caught the movement and laughed. "I suppose it doesn't take evening clothes to make a gentleman," she teased. She expected him to drape it over her shoulders, but instead he held it for her to slide her arms into the sleeves.

"Well, we don't want any inconvenient shivers to spoil your aim."

"Mm, practical." Margo pulled the coat tight around her. The smile she gave Harry was genuinely grateful, not just teasing. "Thanks."

He smiled back and touched the brim of his hat. Then he returned to his post, gun in hand, and both agents were back to business.

The Shadow's eyes glittered approvingly. He lowered his automatics as he began to undertone orders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah uh if you couldn't tell this is my ot3


	6. The Third Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place just after Chapter 19 of #98: The Third Shadow.

Harry was in the hands of the enemy.

Again.

As soon as the panel was shut behind him, he rose from the cot he'd been shoved onto and assessed his prison. Even working in total darkness and taking care to remain silent, his assessment didn't take long. There was no chance for escape from the little room. No way to warn his chief of the coming danger.

He let his aching body settle back into the cot. Another groan left him. This one he didn't try to stifle. He heard his captors laugh. Remembering Sparkler's wise grin, his rasping voice laying out the trap, Harry shuddered.

The Shadow would come for him, but for once, Harry wished he wouldn't.

For awhile he listened. Against the ever-present background of club merriment he could hear his captors moving around, the staircase creaking with ascents and descents, and their voices when they chatted. He tried to keep track of who was present, still clutching at some vain idea of escape.

Eventually, he slipped into an uneasy doze.

He awoke to a hand covering his mouth. Dim silvery moonlight spilled in through the open panel, illuminating the face of Sparkler Meldin above him. Harry tensed. A hiss stopped him.

" _Harry_."

Harry's eyes widened, then grew wider still as Sparkler raised his left hand into view. Among the ostentatious rings that had given Sparkler his name was a gem that the club owner had never laid eyes on. A fire opal of magnificent quality, even the dim light was enough to ignite its depths with a glow that put the glitter of the other stones to shame. The only glimmer that came close to matching the opal was the one in Sparkler's eyes.

No, not Sparkler -- The Shadow!

All the hope that had abandoned Harry earlier came surging back.

The hand over Harry's mouth was removed. "Kidder's bluff didn't fool Burbank," The Shadow whispered in explanation. "You'll be safe here until tomorrow. Everything is in place to remove the impostor. Await further instructions."

Harry nodded. A gentle touch brushed his cheek. Then The Shadow was gone. The panel shut behind him, plunging Harry again into pitch darkness.

He let his eyes close. This time there was no unease.

The Shadow was near, and Harry was fearless.


End file.
